


Catch and Carry. Elderberry

by Darkhorse



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Sickfic, sick!ValJean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-12 21:20:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1201075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkhorse/pseuds/Darkhorse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a kinkmeme asking for Madeleine-era sickfic with Jean as the poorly one</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch and Carry. Elderberry

**Author's Note:**

> Written using draft on a phone, little spellcheck or altering ability. Please make allowances
> 
> And please enjoy

Of all the skills that made him a policeman Javert was most proud of his reporting ability. He blurred out the fact that the sharp eyes and near perfect memory that aided him in compiling said reports came from time living warily in the cell of a woman's prison in the south, always quick to be out of the guards' way, time on the streets and in scrub where the knowledge of food and unguarded pockets was everything of survival. No what he prided himself on, almost might allow himself to preen over was his ability to give reports. To state things concisely, precisely, without it appearing parroted rote or an effort was an artform in itself to his mind. All too often it had allowed him to gauge the reaction of a captured criminal as he gave the charges to his superior. When he came to Montreuil sur Mar it had only gotten easier in his opinion fewer people, slightly fewer doings. He could all but split his mind into two, one providing the details of his report, the other occupied with some different matter. Today for instance, he watched the mayor.

He wasn't sure what settled his attention on to Madeleine with quite such specifity, but settled it was. The mayor was seated at his desk, papers on the wood in front of him, writing-side up but untouched. His full attention was on Javert's report. Except that it wasn't, not today. Oh to the outside viewer it would seem as such, the gaze was directed at him and there was no sense of distraction or preoccupation. But the mayor wasn't all there somehow.

And that was vastly abnormal. 

It wasn't abnormal in any way shape or form for the mayor to have known exactly the incident he was reporting before the report time, but that never lessened Madeleine's attention sometimes it seemed to increase it. Nor was it unusual for him to be preoccupied and wave the report to delay, leaving Javert chaffing while he finished his thoughts and noted their conclusion. 

But what he seemed now Javert wasn't even sure that he had a word for, in either of the languages he knew. So he watched, attentively enough that surely the ever perceptive mayor would notice. 

Madeleine didn't react in the slightest. Unless a light swallow could be called a reaction.

Even as his report reeled off his tongue Javert found a small frown creeping into his expression as moments later he saw the mayor's throat bob again. Not as if his stomach was against him, but given the tiny backward tilt of the head just prior, as if he was trying to soothe a sore throat. There was a slight flush to his face, now Javert looked for it, though the room was neither boiling hot nor cold enough to trigger the reaction. And unlike him the mayor was often oblivious to temperature or weather changes, he'd run into him halfway through the start of a blizzard last winter, and the mayor had been ordering _him_ indoors out of the weather. Him! Who had duties that could not be delayed, criminals would strike whatever the weather. He watched as the other man's hand rose unconsciously towards collar and cravat then, as if he became aware of what he was doing, the mayor put his hand down on the desk. 

Javert cut his report off, concern over-riding his orders and deference. "Monsieur le maire... Are you quite well?" The mayor moved as if he'd been stung, or as if he'd been unable to concentrate and was jerked back to attention. That, more than anything gave a lie to the words that followed "Hmm. Yes Javert, quite." Something was very wrong, the mayor was almost relaxed and he was never, never relaxed in Javert's prescence, always a hidden wariness present about him. Hidden, that is to those who were not Javert, but he knew how to read people. Yet now, it was as if he had forgotten Javert was even there. Javert gave a short bow "With your leave Monsieur le Maire, I will depart." The mayor leant on his desk as he rose to his feet "Allow me to see you out Inspector." Now that was more normal. The man was always trying to give him an honorable escort from the building, one which he normally declined. If he was honest with himself, he only allowed it because he sensed that the mayor would go anyway, and he couldn't let the older man walk those stairs alone. The mayor had a lame leg on a good day, but now, going down with some illness? It was almost certain that he would fall, injure himself or worse. So he accepted the escort and waited with all grace while the mayor put his coat on. 

But dispute a study of indifference his eyes couldn't help but pick up suggestions of weakness in the mayor's movements. His heart chilled, he'd hoped it was mere exhaustion that ailed his superior, but it seemed his guess of illness was right.

As they climbed the stairs he was glad he'd swallowed his normal pride. Three times already he'd had to conveniently be in front of the mayor when he stumbled, catching him and turning a deaf ear to his apologies. And the man wobbled like a foal, clinging to either rail or wall whenever he thought Javert wasn't watching. As if Javert ever stopped watching.

At last though, the mayor's feet found solid ground and Javert could legitimately step away, continue his charade of mere convenience. He didn't want to. It took effort to move his feet across the threashold out into the winter chill. Effort it shouldn't have taken. Why didn't he want to go? Because, his mind answered simply, Because he was worried for Madeleine. 

There were any number of official reasons for him to be worried; the mayor could be robbed in such a state, taken for ransom. But the chances of that, when the whole town, or almost the whole town would raise hue and cry on their benfactor's behalf, were minimal.

Quite simply he was worried for no good reason other than he liked the mayor, found him personable, if perhaps guarded and a little too charitable. But that was his profession speaking, younger Javert wouldn't have said no to a coin for an errand. And it was worry which wouldn't be eased if he just left the mayor. He moved away, walking with apparently normal brisk strides until he had put a building corner between them. Then abruptly, he turned back, peering around the edge of the building. Skulking as his blood was fit for after all he'd gone through to avoid it. That was but a passing thought in his mind as he observed the mayor. Madeleine leant against the wall, not even trying to stay out of the wind. Then he coughed. Javert knew useless wracking when he saw and heard it, saw the mayor press a hand to his chest.

Enough was enough.

He walked forward untill he was at Madeleine's side, placing himself as a windbreak.  
"You need to go home, Monsieur. You are ill."  
Madeleine's voice was a dry rasp "I think we've had this conversation before, in some way."  
They had, the other way around. Javert sighed "I would hope Monsieur le maire would have more common sense than to use my stubborness as an example. You have ten years more knowledge than myself in the world."  
The mayor gave a small smile,but there was an undertone which suggested he was going to say something. He was forestalled by another bout of coughing.  
Javert felt concern dig at his heart, placing a gentle hand on the mayor's shoulder. "You need to go home, rest."  
Words came brokenly "Housekeeper...gone... Sister ill."  
So like the mayor, never thought of himself, only others. Javert considered his options. Like himself the mayor would resist the hospital, not to mention that taking him would be inviting an epidemic to arrive. But somone with knowledge needed to tend him.  
 _You have knowledge._ Had it been anyone but his own mind which provided that informative insight, they would have faced a Javert to be feared. But he could hardly growl at his own mind, so he had to let it slide. Knowledge or no knowledge, he had to get the mayor home. The mayor who was currently barely on his feet, shaking and yet flushed with fever. Walking was out of the question.

He glanced about, raising a commanding arm to hail the nearest fiacre. He helped the mayor into it,planning to ride up beside the driver himself. But the mayor's hand remained latched onto the sleeve of his greatcoat and he found himself drawn inside, seating himself opposite the mayor. 

There was no sound in the fiacre but the rumble of the wheels and the rattling coughing bouts of the mayor. Javert noted how the older man hunched with each one, trying to avoid them and failing. Some part of him longed to move next to the mayor, to hold him, rub his back or his chest to ease the coughs. But he didn't move. Such behavior, or what might be understood from it, was legal, but he had no idea of the mayor's stance on such things. He would not disgrace himself it embarrass the mayor. So, head against heart he stayed put in his seat, though he did not take his eyes from the mayor even when, out of manners, he would have seemed to averted his gaze. Not that the mayor was aware enough to notice his watching anyway. Javert let the mayor lean on him, as they exited the fiacre, and slipped an arm loosely around the older man once they were out. He tried to tell himself it was to guide not to protect, but even the latter seemed acceptable as the mayor leant against him, trusting him or too fever-bleared to do otherwise. That was when the responsibility of what he was taking on settled onto Javert. By his own choice, not Madeleine's, the older man was now dependant on him. He helped the man up the stairs, bracing weight to let him rest as much as he wanted. But the simple fact was that merely being upright taxed the mayor beyond reason. The man needed to lie down, to rest his muscles and sleep almost as much as he needed anything else. 

It was with reluctance that Javert jostled his charge on the landing, stirring him from a standing doze. "Monsieur. Your key." The mayor blinked at him for a moment, then fumbled down a fob chain and drew the required article out of an inner pocket. As soon as the latch clicked Javert shouldered the door open and entered. His eyes took in the heavy, clumsy almost furniture of the room, the incongruity of the silver candlesticks on the mantel and the cold grate in a second. Propelling the mayor to the bed, perhaps more forcefully than he intended. "To bed with you"  
He turned to the fireplace. There was tinder and wood applentey, to start a blaze took a moment. He rose back to his feet, not sparing the mayor a glance, modesty still stood after all, as did rank. "I will not be gone long, some requiement's must be collected" He heard a loose noise of assent as he hastened out, hoping the driver had seen his pointed glance and handguesture prior to entering the building

The fiacre waited at the curb, and this time he sprang with all agility for the boxsteat, providing his own address and a sharp command for haste even before he was settled. The less time the mayor was unattended the better, it was a great pity that what he required did not well suit the waterskins some officers carried. But that was only to be expected. He settled himself, setting his muscles ready for what would be quick no-nonsense movement when they slowed. In, fetch them, back out, to the mayor. Simple and time efficient.

When he re-entered the room the mayor was in bed, one light blanket over his linen nightshirt. His face was perhaps slightly more flushed, but not majorly so, the change in temperature had been countered by the lessening of layers around the body. Automatically he filled a spare bowl from the pail of water he carried, set cloths to soak, before reaching into each deep pocket and drawing out a well padded bottle. Some might have said they contianed wine, but the liquid was slightly too thick to match the description. Apparently obliviousvto the mayor's curiosity, Javert set the bottles on the table and gave them a long look. How could the mayor take this? It didn't matter to him, he'd been drinking it neat for years. But the mayor hadn't, and the mixture was slightly unusual.  
He didn't trust the water, so that was out, as to boil it removed the point of an immediate cooling drink.  
Frowning again he glanced to Madeleine "Do you have milk?"  
"Somewhere." Not helpful, but something at least.

The milk, kept cold in a stone hollow in the kitchen as it turned out, did not take long to procure. He filled a jug half full, and carefully carried it back up the stairs. In the short time the mayor hadn't moved an inch in the bed and Javert felt all too watched as he poured milk into a cup then carefully added some of the syrup mixture, swirling the milk gently to make the two different liquids mix.  
Gently, as kindly as he could manage, he offered the cup to Madeleine.  
"What is it?" Suspicion, all too rightly, coloured the man's tone.  
Javert held his patience only because he realised how foolish he had been, to offer the ill man a strange liquid, which he hadn't seen mixed up from ingredients. No wonder the man was wary.  
"Elderberry syrup, made with honey, elderberries, boiled water. Nothing else. It's an old remedy for the winter."  
The mayor looked no less suspicous at that, raising a hand to indicate the cup "You first. I know elder is poisonous."  
Javert nodded, meeting look for look and raised the cup in a salute "Your health, Monsieur le Maire."  
He drank, only a mouthful, but enough hopefully to convince the stubborn mayor. The taste mixed with milk brought back memories of his first winter outside the prison, almost as suspicious as the mayor was now when his mother had proffered the first spoonful. He'd spent most of the winter that followed begging for more, his tongue now chased stray dregs across his lips at the mere memory.  
He looked to the mayor, who gave him a wary nod and held out a hand. Ready to grab the cup should it prove too much to hold, he handed it over. The mayor, using both hands, brought it to his face, sniffed it slightly, then drank with a resigned look on his face. Javert watched, and was rewarded with a small smile  
"Tastes better than it looks, though." Madeleine cleared his throat "It seems to be biting my throat slightly."  
Javert nodded "That means it's helping you." He assessed the mayor's face "Will you sleep now?"  
"I think I might." The old man's eyes drooped slightly and Javert only watched as he slipped onto one side, curling up.  
He looked vulnerable, and worn out, though the inspector knew he wasn't likely to sleep much, influenza wouldn't give restful repose that quickly. They were in for a haul, though hopefully not too much of a fight, the elder was infallible and the mayor to all accounts had a constitution which the proverbial horse need not be ashamed of. He certainly didn't look delicate, well built despite his shorter stature. But then to him, at over six-foot, everyone was short.  
What were these thoughts? First he sacrificed days of wages to see the man well, now he was considering him as one shouldn't consider a superior. It wasn't as if he wanted a bedmate anyway. But somone to share an evening with? To come home to? That wouldn't be unwelcome, not really. He was solitary through habit now, no-one had offered friendship for years, he'd probably rebuff it without even realising. Maybe he already had. Javert seated himself in a chair by the table, ready to wait, watch, guard, for as long as it took for the mayor to come well again.

It was two days later it happened. He'd let his hair fall loose at some point the day before, it was more comfortable and there was no-one to see. He prepared another cup of elder and milk, then gently woke Madeleine, proffering the drink to older man's lips.  
"Jeanne?" The voice was still sleepy and the eyes that studied him were of the same condition "Jeanne, what is it?"  
Javert spoke clearly "I'm Javert, Monsieur... And it is nice fresh milk for you."  
Only the last seemed to register "Milk. Pierre should have it." The mayor tried to push the cup away.  
"He's had some." Javert tried again, pressing the wood to the mans lips.  
Again the mayor resisted "Then give it to the others, there's half a dozen mouths which need it more than me. Jeanette's growing fast."  
"They've all had some, and I have too. Now drink and get well." This time the mayor drank willingly, practically gulping the liquid down. Javert sighed with relief even as a glance at the flush and a quick touch confirmed that the mayor hadn't lost his fever. That was probably the cause of the strange conversation, as much as recovery sleep. Silently he rose off the bed, placing the empty cup on the table and picking up the wooden bowl of water instead.

Carefully, some might have said tenderly, he patted the cloth across the mayor's forehead, down his neck, onto the shoulders and chest visible through the loose neckhole. The fever wasn't bad, it was mere force if habit and concern for comfort. If he was right the fever would be gone in half a day, maybe a little more. Then all that would remain was weakness from the illness, and that was easily solved by meals of good food. They'd weathered the worst of it, almost certainly. He allowed himself a tiny smile, uncertain whether it was bitter or proud. He'd proved a capable nurse for a pinch, his mother would likely be proud. The question was whether or not he wanted her to be. As his mind wandered he kept up the motions of the cloth, soothing and cool on all the skin he could see, shifting the shirt slightly to reach more, taking advantage of the baggy cloth. 

Fingers and eyes located the blemish on the chest in the same instant. For a moment he could do nothing but stare, recognition striking all else numb. Then just as suddenly he jerked his eyes away, pointedly looking to the wall as his hand redid the shirt ties. His heart pounded in his ears, though the room remained steady. Blind to his actions, he placed the cloth in the bowl, the bowl on the table and stumbled to the chair, leaning on its back as the mayor had leant on him.

First things first, he had not _seen_ the brand. Therefore to the court of law, there might not be a brand, and therefore Mayor Madeleine was not Jean Valjean. Burns could come from as many, if not more things as a lame leg. They weren't an indicator of the galleys. Far from it. Then the conversation such ad it had been came back to him. He knew that odd habit of 24601, to touch the air as though touching seven little heads. And he'd read the notes on the man, his plea of starvation to account for his theft. The question was, what did he do now

The law was very clear in such a case, the parole breaker and fraudster should be returned to the galleys, this time for life. Once a thief always a thief, a man could not change, that was what he had been taught when he'd been taken on. And there lay the rub. For if a man could not change then what was he doing as an inspector of police? By lineage and upbringing he should either be in the galleys, in Valjean's place quite possibly, or roaming the roads with a Romani troupe. Instead he was the absolute antithesis of them in all but his welcome to a dinner party. He had changed beyond all recognition.

What of Valjean? The snarling animal of a man who had snatched the parole ticket from him that day would not have stolen a loaf of bread for children anymore than he would build a factory and charitable institutes. He might steal the bread, but he would eat it himself, no thought of others.

Yes Valjean had changed, but this most recent change was only a reversal of what prison, with all it's cold iron cruelty had created. 24601 was the demon unleashed on society, Jean Valjean the benevolent, caring man who's face had temporarily been usurped by that demon. And that understanding didn't even bring into consideration what would happen to the town if the mayor was remove. Javert stared at the fire, feeling caught between two bonds, his brown carved stone in the picture of thinking.

A croak, more than the bright mid-morning light on his face broke his thoughts. He turned to see the mayor sitting himself up, propped by the pillows  
"It is good to see you better Monsieur." He said it and he meant it.  
Madeleine's eyes were clear, and horrified. "You tended me... You know."  
"I know you have been in and out of awareness for three days, and I know you ramble nonsense in your sleep when you are ill that not even a man could make sense of."  
"But..." The mayor tried to interupt, Javert carried on regardless  
"I know right from wrong, I know honour...I know justice." He adressed the last to the fire embers and rose to his feet, turning to face his patient "And I know that now as ever, I am at your service Monsieur le Maire." He dogged his hat, offering a sweeping bow which had more than a little stage training behind it.

Replacing his hat he walked to the door, looking back as he rested his hand on the latch. The mayor's eyes gleamed with both releif and grateful tears  
"have I the mayor's permission to resume my duties?"  
Madeleine nodded, smiling an emotion filled smile "You have it, inspector. Report tonight."  
Javert returned the smile "Of course."

**Author's Note:**

> Extra kudos if anyone gets the reference in the title.  
> As I said, completly raw, please point out mistakes for later correction.
> 
> Javert's medicine is real, and does a wonderful job.
> 
> Comments are loved.


End file.
